Auntie M’s brother, Juan, sits stone-faced next to me as we sip cheap beers and stare out the window at giggling children chasing the family dog in and out of the communal housing shacks. Martha, Juan’s wife, sits across from Auntie M as they play tarot at the table nestled behind us on the other side of the room.
“You es a fool in love, Dougito.” Auntie M laughs.
I shout back. “Thanks.”
Martha and Auntie exchange laughs while slurping Cremolada in styrofoam cups.
Ignoring their fun at my expense, I turn to Juan. “And what about Gus?”
No reaction.
Auntie M chimes in. “You mean Marcello?”
I want answers, dammit. “Wait. I thought Gus was Marcello?”
Juan scratches his head and puffs his cigarette. “Gustavo. We was best friends growing up in Callao. He always makes us laugh.”
I shrug. “So, what happened?”
Juan scratches at his sleeveless undershirt. “His family moves here, to Iquitos. When I graduate from colegio, he calls me up. Says his papa has got into business with some rich partners. Good money. Really good money. I’m thinking tourism. Maybe some fishing. So, I come to Iquitos.”
Martha turns over the next card in the diamond-shaped formation.
Auntie M whistles. “Dougito, your finance karma is has upside downed pentacles. Pobrecito.”
My memory won’t speak fluently. What the hell’s a pentacle, again?
Back to Juan. “The first thing strange is Gus wants me to call him Marcello. Never Gus or Gustavo. And never, ever in front of the partners.”
Auntie M hollers at me. “Dougito, cut the deck.”
I walk over and do as I’m told, then sit back in my chair, looking over at Juan. “That’s weird.”
“They was scary guys. Silent. Gus and me, all we do all day is load stinking bags into canoes. That’s it.”
“What was in them?”
Juan pops the top off two Iquiteña beer bottles, handing me one.
“I no ask and they no say.”
More laughing from the tarot card peanut gallery. Glad they’re having a good time.
“His papa and the partners would take the canoes way out into the jungle. They come back three, four days later with big piles of cash. No questions asked.”
Auntie M yells out, “Major Arcaña!”
I turn my head. “What?”
She vaults over, snatching the beer from my hands, and takes a sip. “Major. Arcaña.”
“Is that English?”
“Sí. Arcana.” She guides me over to the table and points to the card. “Your health and happiness sign is The Hanged Man.” Martha says something to her in Spanish before Auntie M turns back to me. “You need to surrender to life’s big changes.”
“Okay.” I take the beer back and walk over to my chair next to Juan. Sitting down, I have to shake my head at the sight of a grown man outside, brushing his teeth using the same river water the town drunk was urinating in.
“One morning only Gus’ papa canoe comes back early. No partners.”
I tilt my head. “What happened in the jungle?”
“Couldn’t tell. It was like he lost his mind.” Juan winces. “They found the first partner’s head a few days later, just past Francisco de Orellana. Chopped clean at the neck. A machete.”
Juan watches my eyes widen. “The strange thing is whoever killed him took the time to stuff rubber balls into the eye sockets. . .” He nods to the children joyfully running around the dog. “You know, like the ones kids play with.”
I look over at Auntie M and Martha erupting in laughter as they uncover more tarot cards.
Sighing, Juan looks straight at me. “Papa Gus checks himself into a hotel in Lima. Couple of weeks later, Gus gets a letter in his dad’s handwriting. Bible stuff. Ecclesiastes 12:1–8.”
“Ecclesiastes?”
“Yeah, it’s about remembering your Creator and — “
“I know. I know. Gus is always spouting off about it. That and transcendental dolphin meditation.”
Giggling, then Auntie M’s voice. “Dougito. Career or happiness?”
“Career.”
“Tsk tsk tsk,” she clucks. “No es practical. Remember, a life is judged by how much it es loved.”
Juan looks out the window. At nothing. “They found Papa Gus’ body a couple of weeks later. Bullet to the back of the head.”
He pops open another beer, raising it to his lips. “They found one of his own teeth in his pocket, a two-dollar bill stuffed in his underwear, and the same Bible citation written in magic marker all over his body. Ecclesiastes 12:1–8.”
Juan shakes his head. “Never saw Gus, again.”
Swatting away some buzzing gnats, I heave myself up, like out of a slumber. What to make of all this? Juan’s still lost in his thoughts as I wander over to the Tarot game.
Martha turns over the Death Card. Auntie M’s face looks horrified. She speaks Spanish with Martha, then looks over at me. “It’s not that bad.”
I take my last swig of beer, then lean over to her. “How about something a little more uplifting?”
Thank you Gonzo for another fabulous story! 🤗